


moon river

by da_vinky



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Fluff, Nureyev Plays Piano, Nureyev teaches juno how to play the piano, Other, nothing rlly happens they're just happy together, this is just me projecting onto juno and being in love w nureyev. look away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/da_vinky/pseuds/da_vinky
Summary: Admittedly, I was a little skeptical when Nureyev dragged home that piano.I didn’t know he played, for starters, and secondly, there was barely space for the two of us in our apartment, let alone a 500 pound baby grand piano.--basically: nureyev teaches juno how to play the piano one night when he can't sleep
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	moon river

**Author's Note:**

> look guys. i've been playing the piano for years and i need to vent somehow. this is just me venting about the piano (arguably the sexiest instrument) and peter nureyev. ive had a week let me have this. also if i come back tomorrow with this exact same premise but swordfighing look away please im coping <3 
> 
> also this is by no means my best work because i wrote it in an hour and immediately came here so. sorry not sorry

Admittedly, I was a little skeptical when Nureyev dragged home that piano. 

I didn’t know he played, for starters, and secondly, there was barely space for the two of us in our apartment, let alone a 500 pound baby grand piano. But Nureyev, ever stubborn, ever incomprehensible, made it fit. 

My skepticism did not last long. I love hearing him play. I swear, that man can hear a song once and play it by ear hours later. His repertoire is impressive, with pieces from galas hosted by the outer rim bourgeoisie to the homeless woman’s whistling from down the street. It’s as easy as breathing for him, as are most things, but when he plays the piano… it doesn’t feel like a party trick or a skill gained out of necessity or a brag. It feels like something he loves, you know? Like he’d be playing the piano whether  _ he  _ was outer rim bourgeoisie or the homeless woman down the street. He’s made for it, really, his long fingers darting across the keys, nimble feet working the pedals expertly. 

You can always tell when Nureyev is struggling with something. He’ll sit at that piano for hours, mindlessly running through his collection of scales and songs and what seem to be completely random notes until he’s completely solved whatever the hell was irritating him. I  _ love  _ it, hearing that familiar rhythm ebb and flow… I think it’s starting to help me as much as it helps him, honestly. 

And then one night, I wake up to the sound of an A major scale. I glance over at the clock. 1am. The bed is cold beside me, he must have been up for a while… I wonder how long he’s been playing. He’ll kill me if I don’t make him get his sleep, and so I shove myself out of bed. 

Nureyev doesn’t notice me when I walk into the room. He’s busy playing some sappy 20th century song, one of his favourites. His hair is a mess, his glasses are sliding down his nose and he isn’t wearing any makeup. He looks so pretty. 

He starts as I sit down next to him. Jesus, he must have been really concentrating… 

“Hey. What’s up?” I rasp, my voice not working properly quite yet. 

He looks up at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Have you ever played the piano before, darling?” 

“Uh. No?” 

“I’ll teach you. Here, put your thumb on this key.” Peter insists, tugging at my hand and placing it on the piano, on a white key to the left of two black ones. “That’s C.” 

He positions the rest of my fingers for me, each one on top of a white key. “These other ones to the right are D, E, F, and G. The two between G and C are A and B. Questions so far?” 

“It’s an alphabet?” I ask, yawning, pecking at each note in turn. 

“Correct. Each note next to the two black keys is a C, and you can find the rest of the notes as long as you can find C.” 

“Huh. Okay, go on.” 

“Before we play scales, you should know the numbering of your fingers. On your right hand, your thumb is one, your index finger is two, etcetera, all the way up to your pinky, which is five.” Nureyev explains, taking my hand again and counting off my fingers. I roll my eyes slightly, but I can’t help but smile. He’s clearly avoiding something, but he is being incredibly cute about it. 

“Now: the C scale.” He announces, letting me have control of my own hand again. I put it back on the piano as instructed. “For a one-octacve scale, you want to play C, D, and E with your first, second, and third fingers. Then, cross your first finger across to play F and continue as usual.” Peter demonstrates, then gestures for me to go. It’s… okay. Generously. But Nureyev just smiles down at me, shaking his head gently. 

“Hey, I did okay for a first try!” I huff. 

“It’s alright, Juno. We have plenty of time for you to become just as talented as I am.” He teases back at me, booping my nose. I jerk back, and he laughs at me. 

“Fuck you.” I grumble, but I turn back towards the piano anyways. “What’s next?” 

“You can be done for the day, my love.” 

“Thank god. I’m pretty sure I’ve already forgotten that scale.” I yawn. 

He laughs again, and I can see his shoulders loosen. Good. Nureyev isn’t great at hiding things from me anymore. I mean, I spend pretty much all day every day with him, you learn to read somebody’s tells when you’re stuck with them for that long, and I am a detective after all. I can’t read his mind, but when the wind messes up his hair, he always makes a little noise in the back of his throat, though his face stays unruffled. If our mark on a job does something he didn’t predict, he shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. And, when he doesn’t know what to do about a problem, his shoulders tense up. Something is bugging him, but I’m making it a little easier. That’s all you can do sometimes, right? 

Nureyev’s started playing something, something I haven’t heard, at least not completely. As I listen, I hear little snippets of things I recognize. A chorus I told him I liked the other day, a line he asked me to listen to. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Where’s this one from?” 

“Well, I composed it.” 

“Yeah? What’s it called?” 

He hesitates a second, like he’s debating whether or not he should tell me. “It’s called Juno.” 

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ” I reply, lifting my head off his shoulder to look at him. I can’t think of anything else to say. What else  _ do _ you say? He wrote a song for me. He’s still playing it, and it’s beautiful, it really is. I don’t know how he could have made something so beautiful for  _ me,  _ and I think he gets that. He doesn’t expect me to say anything, and so I don’t. I just listen, my head falling back down onto his shoulder. God, I love him so much. We don’t say it to each other enough, but that’s alright. He pulls shit like this, and I know he loves me too. 

We sit in silence save for the music for longer than I thought possible. Finally, his hands slow to a stop. 

“Done?” I ask, rolling my shoulders as I sit up properly. 

“Done.” He replies, pulling the hood down over the keys. 

“Ready to tell me why you came down here at one in the morning, then?” 

“Ah. I was… thinking of the perfect moment to give you this.” Nureyev says, pulling a small box out of his pocket. He hands it to me, and I open it automatically despite already knowing what’s inside. And yeah, there it is. 

It’s a ring. A thin gold band, nothing conspicuous.

“What. I mean, excuse me- Is this- are you-” I sputter, wishing my goddamn hands would stop shaking. “Aren’t you supposed to be on one knee or something?” I finally ask, letting out a shuddering breath through my grin. 

“Is that a no, Juno?” Nureyev asks innocently, making to get up.

“ _ Absolutely not, get your ass back here.” _

He chuckles, taking the ring, slipping it onto my finger, and kissing the back of my hand. We look up at each other, and I can tell our expressions are the same: stupid grins and relief. 

“So… couldn’t think of a perfect moment?” I tease, pressing my forehead against his. 

“I decided that any moment would be the perfect moment, since you would be there. And this moment was pretty good, don’t you agree?” 

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” 

“I know I am, don’t you worry.” Nureyev grins, kissing my forehead. I yawn, the adrenaline starting to drain from my body. 

“It’s like two in the morning, babe… Could we please go back to sleep?” I laugh slightly, yawning again. 

“ _ Anything _ for you, darling. Anything.” He says, and he’s not really talking about going to bed, but I most definitely am, so I tug him up off the piano bench. He can’t stop smiling, those sharp teeth poking out over his lips. He only ever lets himself smile like that when he’s tired or can’t help himself, and I think right now might be a little bit of both. 

Over the next few weeks, it stays sort of a secret. Not on purpose, really, it’s just… Who would we tell? Everyone is spread to the far corners of space, even Rita.

But honestly, as I sit here watching Nureyev play my song in the dimming light, I’m okay with it. It’s just ours, for now. It’s ours. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading it genuinely means a lot that people like. pay attention to me sometimes. 
> 
> also!!! as of rn i have nobody to beta read my stuff. if u wanna beta my fanfic please send me an email @ kiartarose@gmail.com 
> 
> PLEASE comment you have no idea the absolute joy i get from literally every comment i love you so much


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